


Paradox

by QueenRamsia



Category: Red Velvet (K-pop Band)
Genre: Addiction, Alcohol, Blood, Blood and Gore, Cancer, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Emotional Manipulation, F/F, F/M, Gambling, Girls Kissing, Hospitalization, Illegal Activities, Manipulation, Mentions of Cancer, Mind Games, Mind Manipulation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Paradox, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-02 05:38:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17258558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenRamsia/pseuds/QueenRamsia
Summary: Kim Yerim, an online gambling addict, is in trouble after waging a bet she can’t afford and losing. Now, with the debt rising by the day, she has to figure out a way to pay it off before tragedy takes yet another member of her family. First her parents, then her sister Sooyoung’s husband, leaving them both alone in the world. When Sooyoung is left in a coma after a car accident, Yerim’s need for cash only rises, until her debtors offer a solution: play their impossible game and win, and the debt will be paid and her sister could be saved. But when there are no rules and one of the other players is the beautiful and coy Kang Seulgi, who has nothing but secrets and is far more than she seems, how could Yerim possibly beat Bae Joohyun and Son Seungwan’s twisted game?





	1. Summary

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Kim Yerim, an online gambling addict, is in trouble after waging a bet she can’t afford and losing. Now, with the debt rising by the day, she has to figure out a way to pay it off before tragedy takes yet another member of her family. First her parents, then her sister Sooyoung’s husband, leaving them both alone in the world. When Sooyoung is left in a coma after a car accident, Yerim’s need for cash only rises, until her debtors offer a solution: play their impossible game and win, and the debt will be paid and her sister could be saved. But when there are no rules and one of the other players is the beautiful and coy Kang Seulgi, who has nothing but secrets and is far more than she seems, how could Yerim possibly beat Bae Joohyun and Son Seungwan’s twisted game? 

_Inspired by the thoughts behindNewcomb’s Paradox._


	2. The Hospital Called

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Welcome to my first Red Velvet fan fiction. Please never be afraid to leave your thoughts in the comments, I love constructive feedback. 
> 
> This story will be updated every other day until it ends, so look forward to the next chapters!

Small, bright yellow numbers rolled across the black screen at an almost dizzying rate, and a less-experienced gambler might have squinted. But Yerim knew her eyes were her weapon, her saving grace, so she widened them to take in the speeding numbers two or even three at a time, logging each into her memory with mechanical precision. Her fingers itched to be put to work, to flash across the faded gray keyboard in front of them, but she held them back. _Not yet._

Suddenly, her phone sprang to life on the desk beside her, its ringtone a blaring siren in the meticulous quiet of the room. Yerim jumped and then hissed an expletive as the moment she’d been waiting for came and passed in a string of fateful numbers. Fiercely, she swatted the offensive device off the desk, wincing as it clattered to the floor before turning back to her task. 

Mere seconds after her phone quieted, it started up again, more insistent than before. With a groan, Yerim leaned over and retrieved it, only to snort in irritation and toss it back down when she read the caller ID. Her sister could wait. 

Turning back to the monitor, Yerim anxiously wedged her thumbnail between her teeth. It was possible that she would still win; it just wasn’t probable. And she really, really needed to win. 

Especially since her bet was a few hundred million won more than she could actually wager. 

No biggie, surely. She’d been in a rut plenty of times - almost every experienced gambler had in this particular game. Okay, so this was a tad more than she’d ever owed. But she was good on her debts so long as she was just given the time necessary to pay them off. 

A glimmer of naive hope stayed planted in her chest as Yerim gazed longingly at the ever racing numbers, soft chants of luck and prayers slipping unbidden past her lips. Deep down, she knew it was no use; she had lost. 

In that same deep, dark spot that held this bitter truth, broiling irritation was stewing into resentment. If her stupid sister could have just waited ten more minutes, then maybe Yerim wouldn’t be staring at a red “GAME OVER” screen right now. The two cruel words slid up the screen to make way for the number she now owed - that is, the number that she couldn’t pay. 

As if to mock her, that cursed phone lit up once more, and she bent down with an irate groan and smashed the screen’s little green circle, grumbling about how she missed actual buttons that she could use to take out her rage with a single insistent slam. 

“ _What _?” she snapped, too angry for a proper greeting.__

__As she spoke, she pushed herself to her feet, cradling the phone in the crook of her neck and shoulder before switching ears to free her dominant hand. Picking her way through the dingy lounge of instant noodle wrappers and empty crushed pop cans, she sighed in annoyance as her sister’s voice crackled through the poor reception and into her ear._ _

__Her usual cheery tone was missing, however, and that alone was enough to make Yerim pause her journey across the dark, cramped room. You’d think for an illegal web gambler, she’d have a nicer place. But the Daesin-dong apartment featured walls littered with cracks and a ceiling chewed by mold and furniture sagged from too many years of abuse. The glittering setup behind her was the nicest thing in the entire place, and it made sense. She had invested in the best possible internet, the best possible equipment, the best possible battery backups and disaster recovery in case the building that had skirted past safety codes like it was a point of pride suddenly went up in long-overdue flames. That didn’t even cover the various bottles of pills for things like focus and serenity that sat neatly on the corner of her desk. Her livelihood - if you could call it that - required investments in such things, and as a result, white-collar priorities like nice housing were moved to the back burner. Honestly, she didn’t mind this life - she had her computer and her wits, and that was enough to get her by so far, so why change what was going so well?_ _

__As if to point out the flaw in this logic, the moment Yerim started moving again, a crumpled box that once held freeze-dried kimchi and rice appeared at her feet, and she stumbled over it with a curse before turning her attention back to the soft voice in the phone._ _

__“It’s - it’s -” a tiny whimper sounded, and Yerim realized with a jolt that her happy-go-lucky sister was crying._ _

__“Unnie,” she started carefully, before resorting to calling her name instead of her honorific. “Sooyoung, what’s wrong?”_ _

__A heavy inhale was followed by a miserable sigh before the older woman forced out, “It’s Sungjae. The hospital called; h-he passed away this morning.”_ _

__Before Yerim could fully process what her sister had said, the older woman was sobbing. “H-hey,” Yerim tried, never one for moments of weakness. That was her sister - the emotional one, the one to help those in times of struggle. Yerim was just the subpar gambler, even though she was told by regretful relatives that she used to be like her sister. It never bothered her, not until now. Now, when she really, _really_ needed to be. _ _

__“Hey,” she tried again, “it’s - it’s okay, unnie, I’ll come by.”_ _

__“Come to the hospital,” Sooyoung begged, and it was only then that Yerim heard the faint yet unmistakable hum of a car engine and traffic._ _

__“Unnie, you shouldn’t be on your phone when driving,” Yerim chastised, though her voice was hollow. It was more of a joke than anything, anyway - that was what Sooyoung always said whenever Yerim called her in the same situation. Though, considering Yerim had a motorbike instead a four-wheeled vehicle, her sister’s concern made sense._ _

__Sooyoung made a noncommittal sound before repeating her order and hanging up, leaving Yerim holding a black phone screen against her cheek. She lowered it with a sigh, not quite having come to terms with the loss of her brother-in-law yet. Sure, this was a moment that she knew would come eventually. Everyone did, Sooyoung included. It all seemed like a sick joke, too. First they had to lose their parents - their father to untreated pneumonia (that stubborn asshole of a man, refusing to go to a doctor even when red started to join the yellow he coughed up) and their mother to an infection that would have been treatable had it not been for a little disease called acute leukemia - and then Sungjae just had to start getting headaches that he insisted were from stress. Working in an office would do that to you, he’d say, especially for a finance management company. Just stress._ _

__Not just stress._ _

__Brain cancer. A tumor embedded so deep that there was no way it could be removed, not until many more advances in current technology were made. But those advances required time, and Sungjae didn’t exactly have a whole lot of that. A few years at the most, if he did everything right, and even then he’d need ample luck in the same cosmic lottery that had given him cancer in the first place. But he could get that, right? Luck, that word of superstition and ill-placed hope. It wasn’t over for him, was it? He could still be at home with his wife, hell, maybe they could have kids. They could be a family, could start a family, could chastise Yerim for her life choices and could be as in love and happy as they always were. Right?_ _

__For a time, that was true. Plans of child-bearing were cast aside, however, because no matter how much childish hope anyone held, Sungjae didn’t want to leave Sooyoung to be a single mother. Children required time that any bitter realist would know Sungjae did not have. So even though Yerim was subject to more than one crying session with her sister over this defeat, the couple adapted. They found new offerings of joy. And they didn’t, under any circumstances, think about how much time they actually had._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think, dear readers? I hope you enjoyed. Please leave a comment, and if you liked this, please leave kudos! See you in the next chapter!


	3. Between Skull and Brain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to post daily until we reach Chapter 5, and then I'll start posting every other day. So, enjoy!

How much time they actually had.

Turns out, they had a laughably small amount of that disgusting word. That cruel, sick word. Just two days ago, Sungjae collapsed in their home, the home that was far nicer than Yerim’s and far happier too. A quick scan showed that the tumor had experienced a growth spurt, and the healthy brain tissue that had been stretching to accommodate its monstrous size was now pressing ever so insistently against his skull. A hastily-sawed hole in said bone offered a moment of relief, but there was something else that hadn’t been taken into account.

Because as the space between his brain and his skull shrunk, so too did the space that held his blood vessels.

Yerim didn’t need the nurse with the scratchy voice to explain the rest. She knew well enough on her own. A hemorrhage in the brain wasn’t so easily fixed, especially when all that pressure between skull and brain suddenly released. 

The drive to the hospital had been too long and too short all at once. She knew what awaited her when she arrived, so she dreaded it. But her sister wasn’t far ahead of her, so she coaxed her yellow motorbike a little faster, praying the cops didn’t notice or if they did, that they’d let her disregard of traffic laws slide just this once. Still, she obediently stopped at every red light, fighting the urge to bang her head against the handlebars as she waited for the blessed green light to appear once again. A fog thick enough to cut with a butter knife hung over her like agony personified, and when a horn suddenly blared when she didn’t time the yellow light properly, she couldn’t even find it in herself to flip off the driver. The fog stayed put even as she pushed herself through the revolving hospital door, insisting to accompany her on this journey. 

Sooyoung had been pacing the waiting room, but she stopped and offered Yerim a dead-eyed nod in greeting. No smiles today. No hugs. It didn’t seem appropriate, not when they were here to say their final goodbyes before the body that used to belong to Sungjae was wheeled down to the hospital’s crematorium. 

It was a few minutes later when the scratchy-voiced nurse emerged from the double doors that led to their destiny, to the reality that would soon swallow them both alive. Though Sungjae wasn’t Yerim’s husband, he was exactly like an older brother. He and Sooyoung had met when Yerim was fourteen, and the elder sister was immediately infatuated. Crushes soon developed into actual love, and that love turned into marriage the second Sooyoung was nineteen. With no parents to guide her away from such a rash decision, those who knew the sisters well enough scoffed at the naivety. Surely they wouldn’t last. Surely this fairytale would be over before it ever really began.

But those who scoffed didn’t know Sooyoung and Sungjae. They didn’t see the blinding smiles and soft eyes. They didn’t see the light touches that happened whether they were necessary or not; they didn’t hear the whispered promises that came both in words and in actions. But Yerim, aged beyond her years after losing her parents, did. She saw it all, and it all led her to love Sungjae like a guardian angel. 

When the words “brain tumor” were first uttered, she sobbed as hard as her sister. She required the same shushes of reassurance from Sungjae. 

The nurse offered only a moment of silence for the sisters to absorb her story before she breathed the final nail in their coffin of composure: the aftermath of the hemorrhage. Sooyoung collapsed against Yerim, letting her little sister carry their shared strength for once. For her part, Yerim chewed her lip as if the slight pain could distract her, could stop the tears that threatened to spill. It was one thing to know he was gone, it was another entirely to hear it. All at once, the fog around her head evaporated, leaving her dizzy and toppling over the edge. She never was quite as strong as Sooyoung. Years of being the older sister in charge of protecting her younger sibling from the world after the loss of their parents forged the elder into a wall not even a tsunami could topple. Sooyoung was supposed to be the one to hold Yerim during times of trouble, not the other way around. A brief spark of resentment for Sungjae lit in her stomach. How dare he leave them like this? How dare he just go without considering the storm they’d be left in with no shelter? _He_ was their shelter. But where was he now? Why the fuck did he have to leave?

As quickly as her unreasonable fury came, it dissipated, replaced by a misery that washed over Yerim’s very atoms. The weight of it made her knees buckle, and the unforgiving white linoleum of the waiting room floor came up to meet her as she crumpled with her sister still in her arms. The defeat of the morning seemed like it was years ago, the stress of her loss so minute in comparison to this terrible grief.

The nurse, for her part, let the sisters sob there on the floor for a good few minutes before coaxing them to their feet. She had a job to do that didn’t involve babysitting them all day, and if Yerim was in a better state, she would have realized this and understood. But instead, she hissed two little words - she knew very few English words, but she definitely knew _those_ ones - that were met only with a practiced frown of professionalism before she and Sooyoung were guided through the double doors and into a long, bleach white hallway. 

Room 124 beckoned them closer like a vice. The doorframe was navy blue, a stark contrast with the deathly white of the hallway, and the door itself was the light beige of polished oak. It was nothing more than a slab of wood with a gray handle and gray hinges that would push inward so as not to block the walkway, but it was as formidable as a dragon. When the nurse pushed it open, Yerim mused that it was like the maw of a mighty beast was unhinging, primed to swallow her whole. Still, though, she obediently stepped inside, blinking in the sudden wash of color after spending the past few minutes surrounded by nothing but white. The hospital room’s walls were a sallow baby blue that was chipping in some places, echoing years of service without repair. A single rocking chair with pale maroon cushions sat unoccupied in the far corner, and a faded green couch was wedged against the opposite wall. Dark monitors sat useless on either side of the white bed, maybe not unplugged but definitely off. Something about their state turned Yerim’s mouth sour - they sat jobless, no warm body to keep alive, at least not in this room. It was all so - so _final_. Machines meant to monitor a human’s health turned off because there was no reason to waste the energy required to have them on. 

If she wasn’t careful, Yerim was going to start crying all over again, and she rather preferred the empty state she had found herself in after the initial explosion of emotion. Besides, the nurse looked like she was ready to be done with these two blubbering women. 

Sooyoung had retreated from her role as matriarch of their broken excuse for a family, so Yerim stepped forward first, guiding her sister with a firm arm wrapped tightly around her sagging shoulders. Her first thought was that she finally understood when people said their dead loved ones looked like they were sleeping. She could never figure that statement out - weren’t the dead pale? Lips blue after their blood stilled, eyes closed or if not closed, then glassy? How could you mistake that for something as innocent as slumber?

But even with the bandage around his head and the bulges along his arms where IVs once lived, Sungjae really looked like he was sleeping. Like he’d wake up with that silly grin of his and shout, “Gotcha!” and then they’d hug and laugh and Sooyoung would most certainly slap his arm but he’d deserve it and they’d all know he’d deserve it. There would be tears of relief instead of sadness, and then they’d all go home because it was all a joke and somehow Sungjae got the doctors in on it, and even though that wasn’t his type of humor at all, he’d be forgiven for it because he was their Sungjae and both Sooyoung and Yerim let him get away with anything. 

Yerim squinted, childishly searching for any signs of life. Any shudder of breath, any flutter of eyelids. But Sungjae - or what used to be Sungjae, Yerim never really thought about her beliefs on that - stayed still as a statue, dark hair matted to his gray forehead under the useless bandages. Why were they still there, she wondered. Was it so they didn’t have to see the hole that was supposed to help but only killed him before his time? If that was the case, she wanted to rip that stupid bandage off. She wanted to make the doctors see what they had done. 

But the bandage stayed on, and Sungjae didn’t open his eyes, so the only possible explanation was that he was really gone and was never coming back. The doctors’ mistake would never be undone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this second chapter, readers! See you tomorrow with Chapter 3, and please leave feedback in the comments so I know what you guys like/dislike!


	4. God Damn Fine Print

The days that followed passed in a sluggish blur. Yerim didn’t touch her computer once, even as emails that surely had something to do with her current debt came in one after another with insistent pings, opting instead to help her sister go through Sungjae’s things. The cremation process was finished the eighth day, but when Sooyoung came home from the funeral home cradling a box to her chest - a box that was far too small to hold an urn - Yerim wrinkled her nose. Sooyoung produced the contents with something almost like a smile: a glass vial filled with small green and turquoise stones. As popular as the “death beads” trend had become, Yerim always found the idea a bit squirm-inducing. She didn’t really want to wear her dead loved one in a necklace, and she sincerely hoped she wouldn’t have to watch her sister do it either.

As if reading her mind, Sooyoung assured, “This isn’t jewelry. It’s just...comforting, I guess. To have him like this.”

Yerim gazed at her sister, dumb lips not forming any word or sound. What was there to say? Who was she to tell Sooyoung how to grieve? She remembered reading somewhere that lovers - true lovers, ones that were joined by something almost cosmic in power - often died within a few months or years of each other. Their bodies just gave up, or perhaps it was their minds, having lost a piece that could never be replaced. With a shudder, she hoped Sooyoung wasn’t like that. But hadn’t she seen over the years how close they were? How perfectly in sync, how conjoined?

Pushing these thoughts away, Yerim trailed after Sooyoung to the lounge, watching as the elder placed the bottle next to a picture of Sungjae propped on the bookshelf. Her sister’s apartment was luxurious compared to her own - clean white end tables free of food waste and wrappers, a bookshelf that held actual books and decorative knick knacks instead of retired hardware and empty pop cans, water pressure that never fluctuated. It always smelled of some sort of fragrance that usually coincided with the season or holiday, and even now Yerim caught the faint scent of artificial florals. Usually, the random smells that accompanied her sister and brother-in-law’s home annoyed her. Now, she just wished they weren’t quite so unnoticeable.

Sooyoung stayed put in front of the bookshelf, shoulders somehow both stiff and slumped all at once. She was a walking paradox, Yerim mused. Both physically healthy and irreparably broken. When she turned back to the younger, her dark eyes glimmered with dull emotion, no sign of the joy that earned her most beloved nickname. Could Yerim even call her it anymore? 

No, she supposed not. But what did she expect? The woman’s husband just died, and all that remained of him was sitting in a little glass vial on that godforsaken bookshelf. 

Stupid Sungjae. Why couldn’t he have just lived? Why did he have to fucking die?

Yerim found herself shuddering, and she bit her nails into her palms to distract herself with a more bearable pain. After the shakes came the tears, and she didn’t think either of them could handle any more of those right now. Not after days and days of them, of quiet sniffles and loud wails and noses raw from cheap tissues. 

Before the silence could become suffocating, the phone in Yerim’s pocket chimed. She pulled it out with a sigh, reasoning that she’d have to deal with it at some point and right now she really could use an excuse to leave Sooyoung’s presence. It seemed her debtors had moved from emails to private messages on one of the forum apps she frequented, and she didn’t really want to think about how they could be so sure it was her account and not some random nobody on the internet. Instead, she offered her sister an apologetic shrug, nodding to her phone as if to say, _what are ya gonna do?_ Sooyoung only pursed her lips, knowing damn well enough about her little sister’s lifestyle to disapprove of any unexplained disappearances. But it’s not like Yerim could just say, _yeah, I bet about a hundred fifty million won more than I actually have, so now I have people riding my ass because I lost the round._

Something told her that wouldn’t go over very well, so rather than explain herself as she backed out of the stuffy stillness of the lounge, she simply slipped into the small guest room she’d been staying in and then unlocked her phone. The words **1 NEW MESSAGE FROM ss_Wann1e** blinked up at her like a curious child, innocent in all its intentions. 

Hilarious. 

Anxiety bubbling up in her throat, Yerim tapped the notification and watched as her screen flashed through the animation of opening the app. It took a moment of loading for the chat room to appear, and Yerim’s eyes trained on the spinning red circle as the bytes of code worked to construct the message. 

In just a few seconds, the chat room appeared, and Yerim sunk down on the room’s twin sized bed to read the words on her screen. 

**ss_Wann1e:** As you have failed to respond to multiple messages to the email on file, I was tasked with reaching out personally. The debt currently on your account is ₩190,000,000. 

Yerim’s stomach dropped at the number, confusion numbing her thumbs. Slowly, though, she was able to type a reply. 

**k.yeri99:** I’m not sure what you’re talking about. I bet 175

The response was near instantaneous, and Yerim’s leg began to bounce as she read. 

**ss_Wann1e:** As stated in the terms of the wager, weekly interest of 12% will be added if the debt is not paid within 24 hours. As it is currently the 8th day after net 1, interest has added ₩15,000,000 to your account payable. 

God damn fine print. Yerim cursed herself before setting her focus on typing. 

**k.yeri99:** I’m sorry, my family just went through a tragedy

**ss_Wann1e:** I’m sorry for the loss of your brother-in-law. You seemed very close to him. But business is business, Yerim. 

Yerim’s blood crystallized in her veins. 

**k.yeri99:** How do you know about my brother-in-law?

**ss_Wann1e:** My boss makes a point of getting to know her debtees. 

**k.yeri99:** Wtf does that mean? 

**ss_Wann1e:** It means that your debt is climbing, Yerim, so it’s time to figure out your options. My boss doesn’t take kindly to those who don’t pay their debts. 

**k.yeri99:** You’ll get your money, I just need time

**ss_Wann1e:** That seems to be one thing your family lacks, doesn’t it? 

Yerim frowned, trepidation twisting around her throat like a collar. Somehow, she just knew this person - whoever he or she was - was referring to her parents too, not just Sungjae. But how could they have that information? That was buried deep in the cellars of Yerim’s heart, never to be unearthed. If Sooyoung spoke of their parents, she knew better than to do it around Yerim, and she was nowhere near associated with the crowds Yerim attracted through her livelihood, so what the hell? Who could have possibly let that information slip? It had always been Sooyoung and Yerim against the world no matter the splatterings of friends they made and lost over the years. Even Sungjae proved he wasn’t going to stay around forever, though that situation was far different than a bunch of teenage brats realizing they didn’t want to be associated with the weird orphan kids. 

She was shuddering again.

Looking back down at her phone, Yerim found that there was no way she’d be able to respond to that message without royally screwing herself. It seemed that not only did she lose, but she lost to a very powerful player. And how the hell was she supposed to find ₩190,000,000? She hadn’t even known how she was going to scrounge up ₩175,000,000, and now not only did she have a time limit, but interest as well? She quickly did the math in her head, figuring that weekly interest of 12% meant that for every day she didn’t pay up, ₩3,000,000 would be added to her debt. That number alone was enough to make her stomach sink through the bed and plop on the soft carpeted floor.

Somehow, she managed to make it back out to the lounge without fainting, even though her head hummed with panic-driven blood coursing through her temples. Thinking about blood and heads led to thoughts of Sungjae, and Yerim mentally shook herself before pasting on a fake smile as Sooyoung turned her way. 

“What’s wrong?”

Yerim almost laughed. What’s wrong? So much was wrong. “Nothing, unnie.”

“Who texted you?” Sooyoung pressed.

An annoyed pulse added to the throbbing in Yerim’s skull, so she snapped, “No one important.”

Sooyoung never was one to give up, even when it was in everyone’s best interests for her to do so. Especially when it came to Yerim, who had a tendency to lock herself up without a key. 

Sooyoung also never was one to pretend her sister wasn’t an underground gambler, and she never hid her distaste for the trade. “How much did you lose this time?”

Though she was obviously trying to hide her true feelings, Yerim was certain she could hear the smallest touch of disgust in her sister’s words. It was enough to turn her roiling emotions into a cannonball of fury. “Does it matter?”

“Oh god,” Sooyoung’s shoulders slumped. “It was a lot, wasn’t it? How much did you bet, Yeri?”

Words clogged in Yerim’s throat - how was she supposed to tell her? _What_ was she supposed to tell her? 

“I can’t back down on this,” Sooyoung added. “I can’t bail you out again.”

Yerim bristled. “Who said I needed you to?”

“Then tell me how much you lost.”

Yerim’s lips stayed sealed, and if she had any say, they’d stay that way. A long moment of silence accumulated over the room, a heavy thing that pressed down on her chest and made it hard to breathe. The scent of lilies - both from the dying air freshener plugged into the wall and the bouquets sent from well-meaning peers - permeated the air like a blanket, curling out in clawed tendrils. The fresh white flowers sitting on the end table closest to her exuded fumes that transformed into a towering beast, grinning down at its prey with glinting eyes, and all along its _odor_ pulsed outward in daggers.

She didn’t realize she had kicked it off the table until the shatter of the pale green ceramic vase echoed through the quiet apartment like a gunshot. Both of the girls flinched, but Sooyoung did nothing to stop her sister as the buzz of adrenaline pattered up her spine. A harsh glint in her eye, Yerim turned to the adjacent dining room, eyes falling on the three bouquets on the table. Only one of them held those stupid lilies, but all of them were guilty by association. The satisfaction of breaking something slipped gracefully into her bloodstream as if through an IV drip, and soon her knuckles were littered with specs of blood and glass. The vibration of rage and grief took over the back of her brain, and she released an animalistic scream. 

“Fuck him!” 

She wasn’t entirely sure who she was talking about. Partly Sungjae, for she was still angry at him for leaving. Mostly her debtor, for her naive mind was certain it was a “he.” All those crime movies that featured male antagonists couldn’t be wrong, right?

Then again, women were often the sneakiest bad guys in those films.

“A lot!” Yerim shouted, swinging her fist at the second vase. “I lost a lot!”

“Yerim!” Sooyoung snatched her arms, gripping tight enough to hurt and saving the third and final bouquet from the unfortunate fate of its brethren. Panting heavily, Yerim squinted at the elder, tossing around the idea of changing the course of her fist to her sister’s face. But that thought alone was enough to shake her free of her sudden aggression, and she backed away with a heavy intake of air. Slowly, ever so slowly, the euphoric cloud of violence disappeared from her mind, the drip ripped from her arm. With a sigh, Yerim gave a curt nod, and only then did Sooyoung release her. Silence overtook the dining room, and it was so thick that she squirmed in discomfort. Understanding, Sooyoung took her hand and tugged her back to the lounge, sitting them down on the couch. A nice one, a nice beige one that didn’t have a single cola stain or weared tear on it. Yerim’s fingers ran over its soft fabric, finding comfort. The scent of lilies was still in the air, but she found it bearable enough to not go on another flower killing spree. Not yet, at least. 

After a long moment of silently staring at anything but each other, Sooyoung breathed, “Are you ever going to stop this?”

Yerim glanced at her sister before finding the pleading light in her eyes too much to bear. What was she supposed to say? It’s not like she could make her sister feel better with the truth, and she really didn’t feel like lying. That’s one thing they never did to each other. So, her voice small and hoarse, she breathed two words that shattered the careful serenity that had nervously taken over the room.

“I can’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whatcha think, my readers? Tell me in the comments, and consider leaving kudos if you like this story!


	5. The Usual

The glass vial that held Sungjae’s beads was positioned just adjacent enough to the window that every morning when Yerim rolled out of the guest room’s bed and shuffled into the lounge, scattered patterns of green and blue light were cast on the opposite wall like a mural. In a way, it was a perfect memory of Sungjae and the light he brought to the sisters’ life. After years of facing nothing but the world’s back, they finally had someone that not only loved one of them, but both, even with their unique flaws and issues. The sight of the colors had made Sooyoung weep in pained joy the first time she saw them, and she had only shifted the vial so that it’d reflect even more light. She’d sit and drink her tea on the couch beneath the painted wall, a forlorn smile spread across her face as she gazed at it. But for Yerim, the mural had another effect. It wasn’t a comfort; it was a cruel reminder of all she had lost, and she couldn’t bear to look at it for another moment.

“I’m going home.” Sooyoung’s bloodshot eyes slowly slid across the room to fall on her sister, and she asked what she meant. But instead of giving a proper answer, Yerim only repeated her sentence, adding, “I’ll be back to check on you, I promise. I’ll stop by every day.” _Just not during the morning._

She found she was far more sensitive to things now. It started with the odor of the lilies, which still sat in the air as if to taunt her. She’d ripped the air freshener plug out of the wall, but the decaying flowers in the trash can offered enough of the horrendous stench to keep the apartment stinking like a garden. That alone was enough to make the place her own personal hell, but the accumulating dust in a house that used to pride itself on cleanliness and the mural created by Sungjae’s beads were enough to drive her crazy.

Something flickered to life behind the misty film in Sooyoung’s eyes, and she asked bitterly, “Is it because I don’t allow gambling in my house?”

Truth be told, Yerim hadn’t really thought of it like that. Sure, she really needed to get back online. Her fingers longed to fly across her keyboard, to make ludicrous bets and win big again. To pay off her debt, of course, which had risen quite a bit. That ss_Wann1e person hadn’t messaged her again, and that was a welcome if not foreboding surprise. Yerim had been certain she’d receive updates about what she owed on a daily basis, so having the person disappear - save for the first few messages they exchanged - almost made the whole thing easier to handle. But all that paled in comparison to the stew of negative emotions that swirled in her gut whenever she was in her sister’s apartment.

“No,” she said truthfully, adding that she just really needed to go home. She missed her bed, which was a total lie, as all she had for that was a mattress on the floor without so much as a box spring. 

Sooyoung studied her, quizzical tired eyes melting down Yerim’s front. Finally, the elder nodded, a shallow movement that offered no true permission, just acceptance. Returning the gesture, Yerim turned on her heel and made her way back into the guest bedroom to gather the sparse things she’d brought with her. In a matter of a few minutes, her belongings were dropped into her faded gray gym bag and she was kissing her sister’s cheek goodbye, noting the faint punctuation of body odor and alcohol with a sad frown. Was it really such a good idea to leave her like this? 

Shaking away things like logic, Yerim escaped the suffocating apartment and bound out of the building, inhaling the clogged city air like it was the freshest scent in the world. No flowers, no lilies, just car exhaust and street food. She hailed a cab without so much as looking back up to the fourth floor at her sister’s flat, opting instead to slip into the vehicle like it was a welcome friend and bark her address at the middle-aged driver. Even though she owned a motorbike, when she had gone home to retrieve items to take to her sister’s, she mused that driving in her emotional condition wasn’t a good idea. She almost regretted that decision now; the taxi smelled of cigarette butts and sweat, a thick stench that circulated through the cab like a whirlpool, and it was enough to make her seriously consider walking. But she stayed put and, like a good member of society, didn’t fly off the handle. See? She could be civil and kind just as much as Sooyoung could.

She pursed her lips, questioning why she even thought that. It wasn’t like she was jealous of her sister, that was absolutely ridiculous. She had her own abilities that Sooyoung didn’t - gambling, for one thing. Not that her sister couldn’t pick up the habit, but that was beside the point. 

The city passed in a blur of asphalt and glinting windows, and the cool interior of the cab juxtaposed the heat that radiated off the sidewalk in a blurry haze. Smog forced the sunlight to filter through a thick blanket, turning the sky a sickly grayish-yellow, and the baking air smelled so strongly of factory fumes and trash that it managed to wisp into the taxi. The ancient air freshener clipped to the vent was labeled “fresh linen,” but its liquid contents were near nonexistent and it only complemented the scent of the city instead of masked it. Blinking neon signs boasted the wares of the stores they advertised: clothing and food and electronics, and the animated billboards along the skyscrapers were plastered with smiling faces that seemed to taunt Yerim in her cloud of depression. With an irate huff, she hunkered down in her seat, doing her best to ignore the cacophony just outside. But without proper earplugs, she couldn’t protect herself from the chaos of noise - the hum of multiple voices all trying to speak over each other, the hiss of steam from the numerous street vendors, the honking and squealing and occasional sirens from fellow vehicles.

God, she hated the city. Normally she loved it - loved how it lived and breathed like the innards of a rampant smoker, how it pulsed like a communal heartbeat. But right now, she could really do without the constant noise and terrible smells and obnoxious sights. 

The cab squeezed onto one of the sidestreets where the complexes didn’t glimmer with the slightest hint of light and the dingy gray of concrete spread as far as the eye could see. _Home._

The panels along the outside of the squat apartment building hinted at a past shade of blue, but now it was nothing more than faded pigment stained with mysterious fluids and graffiti. Somehow, four apartments had managed to squeeze into the space, and each sported an air conditioner in their yellowed windows. Yerim’s only sputtered to life if she gave it a hard bang with her fist right on its top, but that was okay - at least she had a way to keep cool. One of her neighbors - she never was one to learn their names, but it was an elderly widow in her late seventies - had a fan sticking out of her window instead. Yerim wasn’t entirely sure either of her other neighbors had offered any help in that situation, but she’d offered to try to fix the box to no avail. The woman was happy with her fan, and Yerim was happy to go back into solitude. 

She gave the driver a quiet “thank you” as she paid him before hauling her gym bag over her shoulder and clambering out of the cab, catching the scent of grease and spices from the next door dumpling shop. Her stomach rumbled at the familiar smell, and after she tossed her bag haphazardly into the hallway that led into the depths of her apartment, she let the promise of food guide her to the shop. There was a back entrance along the sidestreet, but the old man that owned the place preferred his patrons walking around to the front. He was a nice enough man, and one of few that Yerim could actually consider a friend. He lived above his shop in a small but quaint flat, and the only reason she knew that was because he invited her up for tea as thanks after she helped him set up WiFi for his patrons (and, of course, for her, though she kept that little tidbit to herself). The plan had worked, though - not only did he have a few more customers, but his little shop with his home-made dishes and old-timey charm now even attracted young people (besides Yerim, of course). So what was the harm if she borrowed a few gigs a month? 

The shop was quiet when she entered, and she dropped her head into a bow before she situated herself at the bar and exchanged a hollow greeting with the owner. His name was Kim something - though wasn’t everyone’s? Even her name was Kim. She subconsciously cocked her head at him, racking her brain for a name. Not that it really mattered, considering she never called him by it. So, the importance of that now brushed aside, she rapped her knuckles on the wooden tabletop.

“The usual?” Kim asked, and Yerim offered a nod accompanied by a small smile of thanks. When she asked for tea as well, the old man gave her a warm, teasing grin and told her she knew where the kettle was. Which she did, of course, and since there were no other patrons besides her, Kim was comfortable ordering her around like a grandchild.

It made her feel kinda guilty for forgetting his name.

“How’s the shop, Halabeoji?” she asked, more for a semblance of normalcy than actual interest. 

The title made the man chuckle - Yerim knew enough about him to know he hadn’t married, hadn’t had time, and some part of that was comforting to Yerim. When she wasn’t present with her sister, she was so terribly alone. But so was this old man, and perhaps that’s what made them stick together. She asked if he wanted a cup as she set the kettle on the blacktop stove, and he nodded to signal he did. Surely her being behind the counter was some sort of health code violation, but if Kim didn’t care, neither did she. 

But his soft, dry laughter - the kind that was weathered down to a welcoming rasp after years of use - died a moment later, and instead of answering Yerim’s question, he murmured, “I heard the news, my dear.”

She knew exactly what he was talking about, so she didn’t look up from the kettle as he continued. 

“I’m sorry for your loss. I know he was like a brother to you.”

She was eternally grateful that Kim hadn’t said his name. 

“He _was_ a brother to me,” she corrected in a small voice.

Suddenly, a warm hand dropped on her shoulder, and she looked up to meet two charcoal eyes. The man didn’t try to offer any words of comfort - he seemed to be waiting on her for guidance. After all his years of gaining wisdom, it seemed he’d learned that the best way to comfort someone was to let them grieve in their own way. His eyes were creased with wrinkles - the kind created by wide smiles and loud laughter - and even his monolids sagged over the outer edges of them. But their orbs were bright and attentive, gentle and knowing. Yerim didn’t remember much of her parents simply because she’d done her best to block out those memories, but she hadn’t ever known her grandparents. As depressing as it was, Kim the dumpling shop owner had started to fill that role, offering a sense of family outside of her sister and brother-in-law.

But still, the silent offer of comfort was too much, and she contemplated running away or wrapping him in a hug. Both seemed like viable solutions to this growing discomfort, but before she could decide, the kettle screeched to life, signaling the water was ready to be poured. She jumped, effectively brushing Kim’s hand off her shoulder, and turned to the red hunk of hollow metal, trying her hardest not to look at Kim again.

Strange how moments of awkwardness gave her a sudden burst of intelligence, and she remembered with a start that his name was Chulsoo. Kim Chulsoo. 

She knew his favorite tea was earl grey, so she snagged two packets from the cupboard and two cups. Normally tea was served loose in the shop, but that was only for patrons in need of impressing. Not for family, as Yerim had become honorarily. Besides, they both agreed that the two varieties tasted basically the same. 

Chulsoo probed at the kimchi mandu with his cooking chopsticks, humming a song that Yerim only knew from moments like this. When she’d asked about it, he had said it was from his childhood, and that fact made her feel incredibly special, like she was granted a secret. He only ever sang it when the shop was empty, but it seemed a part of his cooking routine. Yerim guessed he would have hummed it more often if he had a wife and children to cook for. But instead he was cursed with just her - just Yerim. 

“Sit, turtle,” he chirped, and she rolled her eyes. He came up with the nickname forever ago, back when she was just a runt kid who plagued his shop more often than any other patron. She still didn’t see the resemblance, but she supposed that was part of Chulsoo’s charm. He was weird, but he was kind and quiet and didn’t ask too many questions. 

She obeyed his order, palming her mug with both hands as if the sweltering summer heat was impervious to the icy shell of grief hovering over her skin. 

Minutes later, the scent of spices furled through the air like a fan, meeting her nose with the smell of the mandu’s ingredients. Instantly, her mouth began to water, and she straightened her spine to see over Chulsoo’s shoulder at his cooking. Though he made his dumplings in oil, they never turned out greasy, and she knew the tuna and kimchi inside would be so tender that they’d shred with the poke of a chopstick. Leftover rice from the day’s lunch rush sat waiting in the cooker, but Yerim remained patient and let Chulsoo dish up his masterpiece - he wasn’t a fan of anyone taking over plating his food, a fact Yerim had learned the hard way after a rather harsh scolding. And sure, the old man was quite good at making his food look pretty without being too intimidatingly fancy to eat. But Yerim didn’t understand the insistence of a good presentation - it was just her, and it was just food. It’d be gone in a minute anyway.

She accepted the finished dish with a grateful dip of her head, picking up her chopsticks and digging in like she hadn’t had a decent meal in days. Which, due to Sooyoung’s near-comatose state and her own lack of cooking abilities, had been the case. Ramen was good, but not enough so to eat everyday. 

The kimchi mandu disappeared quickly, as did the bowl of rice Chulsoo gave her. She held out a few won, hoping that he’d accept it just this once, but of course the old man turned away from the outstretched bills and busied himself with cleaning his work space. Yerim shook her head in mild amusement, calling out a “thank you” before downing the rest of her tea and disappearing from the dumpling shop. She wasn’t entirely sure why Chulsoo never let her buy her meals, but she couldn’t say she wasn’t grateful. Good food was one thing - free good food was something close to heaven. 

Her full belly made the short trek back to her apartment seem like a five-mile hike uphill, yet somehow she managed it without stopping to catch her breath. Her worn key jangled in the lock, her hand giving it a practiced jiggle before pushing into the apartment. Her gym bag sat at the end of the short hallway, folded over itself against the wall. The difference between her apartment and her sister’s was almost depressing. Sooyoung’s home was just that - a home - whereas Yerim’s was nothing more than a place to live. It wasn’t supposed to be a permanent solution, though if she didn’t figure out how to pay off her debt fast, it just might turn into one. With a heavy sigh, she bent down and slung the gym bag over her shoulder with a grunt of effort and rounded the corner into the lounge before her gait slammed to a halt. At first, she wasn’t entirely sure what was different with the room. It was dark and littered with dust and food debris per usual, but something else accompanied the mess. Like a game of I Spy, she scanned the room, unease making her bloated tummy perform a few flips. She smelled the difference before she truly saw it, and when she realized just what it was, her blood turned into a frozen sludge in her veins.

There, sitting on the worn coffee table among the ramen wrappers and pop cans, was a vase stuffed with ghost white lilies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >:)


	6. Intruders

At first, Yerim couldn’t move. It was as if the lilies’ stench had rendered her entire body useless, and she blinked at the vase as if she couldn’t comprehend what it was. 

Numbly, her limbs found themselves in locomotion, and she crossed the room to the coffee table. Part of her considered just what this breakin meant - her computer was still sitting like a diligent sentry upon her desk, and that was the only item she owned worth stealing. And yet, the rest of the room was untouched, every wrapper and speck of dust exactly as she left it over a week ago. She tried to recall putting it there - had some acquaintance given it to her and she’d brought it home? Surely she’d remember something like that, right? 

The more she thought about it, the more obvious her current position became. Someone had come into her apartment, not to steal anything, but to leave something. Something with a stench that had vomit rising in the back of Yerim’s throat. Forcing down the sensation, she stepped around the vase like it could hear her, waiting for it to sprout fangs. As she moved around to the far side of the bouquet, she noticed a small white note attached to one of the flowers with a clear plastic clip. Hands shaking, she bent down to retrieve it, holding her breath to stave off the odor of the lilies. 

There, in neat black handwriting, was scrawled the message the flowers were meant to send.

**_₩205,000,000_ **

Yerim gagged, dropping the paper with an anxious exhale. Not only had someone been in her apartment, they’d been in there _today_. She did the math quickly in her head just to be certain, and that was definitely the case, for that was the amount she owed as of right then. Just the thought of someone watching her close enough to know when exactly she’d be home was enough to make her stumble to the only window the lounge had to offer and jerk the curtains closed. But even that wasn’t enough to stave off her nearing panic attack, so she haphazardly snatched magazines, Post-It notes, snack wrappers, anything she could find, and piled them up over the glass, as if that would protect her. A haphazard wall of trash and paper.

Nowhere near satisfied but feeling slightly more at ease, Yerim grabbed the vase - she hesitated at first, sucking in a breath before diving in like the flowers would sting her skin - and carted it to the door before chucking it out onto the street. The glass of the vase shattered, little chunks bouncing outward from the epicenter in glittering shards, and Yerim slammed the door shut and gulped in a breath. She’d really like to open the window to exhume the offending stench left by the bouquet, but the idea of someone else crawling into her abode was enough to scare her away from that idea. The kimchi in her stomach roiled, and a quiet thought tickled the back of her brain. No, not a thought, not necessarily. It was more like a realization, one that grew until it was monstrous, and her stomach followed the behemoth’s suggestion with obedience wrought by a life of servitude. Yerim just barely made it to the bathroom, feet tumbling about as if attached to the legs of a newborn deer, before her dinner was coming up in bile-tainted chunks, some even coming out through her nose and burning like a line of coke. This thought led her to a subdued moment of want, though she hadn’t touched anything stronger than tobacco or soju in years, and never had she dipped into the dark, no-turning-back-now world of harder substances such as cocaine or heroin. Well, that wasn’t entirely true - sometimes the burst of focus offered by a few prescription Adderall kept her alert enough to finish a particularly long round. But why was she even thinking about drugs right now? 

Why _wouldn’t_ she be thinking about drugs right now? Now, when she was certain someone was watching her. Her brain conjured the sensation of eyes on her back, studying her like an insect, and it was enough to send her crumpling over the toilet bowl again to empty even more of her stomach lining into it. Her food was all but gone now, so the only thing that came up was bile tainted with the mixed colors of her meal, and the stench of it was enough to make her dry heave a few more times just for good measure. Was that a throb she was feeling in that abused organ? She didn’t even know a stomach _could_ throb. The entire experience conjured a pulse in the front of her brain, harsh and insistent, just to really drive home that this was, without a doubt, the shittiest day ever. When she was certain she was done, she fumbled for the lever with weak, immobilized fingers before flushing the offending contents of the bowl, sniffing and then flinching as said sniff made the bile burning in her nose suck into the back of her throat. Her entire body shook as she pushed herself to her feet and shuffled to the sink. If Sungjae’s death wasn’t enough to reduce her to a shell, she certainly felt empty in that moment. The coppery water that sputtered out of the faucet did little to staunch her battered nasal cavities, but it cooled the fire burning in her throat and so she dredged it in fervent gulps.

Blinking tears out of her stinging eyes, she made her way back to the lounge, snorting and rubbing at her raw nose. But her torture wasn’t over, it seemed, for the instant she stepped back in the room, her phone lit up from where it lay on the sofa. Hesitant, she weighed her options. Logically, it was better to just go see who had messaged her. Whoever she’d pissed off was a very powerful person, and she was never one for dark games. But emotionally, she wanted to smash the stupid thing with a hammer and hole herself away to pretend that all of this was just one fucked up dream.

Logic got the better of her, and she made her way to sit beside the device before mustering up the courage to pick it up.

Surprising no one, the name that lit up in her messages was ss_Wann1e. Yerim groaned, rubbing a hand down her face. Why had she insisted on playing that round? Sure, if she’d won, it would have been amazing. Maybe so good that she’d never have to gamble again, and wouldn’t that make Sooyoung ever so happy? But she’d lost, and now she was being stalked by someone she didn’t even know - maybe multiple someones. Her skin accumulating a thin sheen of nervous sweat, Yerim unlocked her phone and clicked open the chatroom.

**ss_Wann1e:** My boss asked me to offer you a proposition.

Yerim chewed her bottom lip, heart rate spiking. There was very little doubt in her mind that these people were the ones responsible for the flowers, and that made what little contents her stomach still held settle into a sour puddle at the base of her gut. Who _were_ they?

But still, two could play this game, and Yerim was pretty good at games. 

**k.yeri99:** How’d you get in my house?

**ss_Wann1e:** Unimportant.

**k.yeri99:** I could call the cops

Yerim could almost hear whoever was on the other side of the chat release a bark of laughter.

**ss_Wann1e:** You won’t. You’re too afraid of what comes when authorities dig into what you’ve been doing yourself. 

Yerim squirmed, not liking just how well this person seemed to know her. Deciding it was best to change the subject, she asked the only question to come to mind.

**k.yeri99:** What’s the proposition?

**ss_Wann1e:** My boss finds enjoyment in psychological experiments and would like you to partake in one.

Something about the words “psychological experiments” coming from this person didn’t make Yerim feel any better, but she knew it was best to play along. _A game._ This was all a game, and she knew games. She could play games.

**k.yeri99:** What kind of experiment?

**ss_Wann1e:** Orientation takes place one week from tomorrow. You will be briefed on the proceedings then.

**k.yeri99:** Don’t I get any information now?

**ss_Wann1e:** Not until you sign the necessary paperwork. All you need to know now is, if you’re smart about this, you could stand to not only pay off your debt, but also make a lot of money.

A psychological experiment she didn’t get to learn about until she met with these people? Her aching stomach rumbled with nerves.

**k.yeri99:** Can I have some time to think it over?

**ss_Wann1e:** You have a 24-hour period to make your decision. Message me here with a yes or no by that time. My boss doesn’t appreciate tardiness, so I’d advise against not responding.

Just to test her limits, Yerim typed out one last question.

**k.yeri99:** Can I at least know your boss’s name? 

The answer came almost too quickly, as if ss_Wann1e had planned for the inquiry.

**ss_Wann1e:** Her name is Bae Joohyun. Now hurry, Yerim. The clock is ticking, and you have decisions to make.


End file.
